


Crazy Love

by bitboozy



Series: Domesticated [7]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, Still Fluff, and go to the pub!, but hello sexy times, they finally go on a proper date!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitboozy/pseuds/bitboozy
Summary: Ellie Miller has decided to blow Alec Hardy’s mind.





	Crazy Love

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy people seem to be enjoying this series! I've started the sequel to the series, as they enter the next phase of this relationship. Thank you all so much for reading, and for taking the time to comment! There's truly nothing like a professional writing deadline to send me crawling to fanfic. This is way more fun than play rewrites! 
> 
> Thanks again - xx.
> 
> Also, thanks to Van Morrison for soundtrackin' me on this one.

They spend more nights together than not now. Some nights they’re too tired to do anything more than sleep, and this is perfectly all right with them. They sleep better together. Both of their nightmares have lessened in frequency and when he wakes up throughout the night he doesn’t question where he is, because she’s there. When they’re at hers, they sometimes wake up with a tiny person snuggled between them. Fred is very happy to have more people to cuddle, Daisy is happy to see her dad taking proper care of himself, and Tom is happy to have his mum off his back.

No one in town knows yet. Just those in their little bubble. They keep to themselves, shuttling between work, his home, and hers. He has yet to even take her out on a date, which he remembers on occasion with some chagrin, and vows to rectify. Despite this, they spend more time together than most couples whose couplehood is _known_. They find moments to be alone in fits and starts. When they’re driving, late nights at work when their colleagues have all left, evenings at home when the kids have gone to bed, the occasional walk on the cliffs so far out no one could make them out.

Mornings have become sacred to them recently. Alec has learned so very many of Ellie’s desires and tendencies of late, one of them being her strong inclination to make love in the morning. With this information brought to his attention, he now understands why she was so interested in waking up together. At first, he was on the fence about it, not at all being a morning person himself. But Ellie makes the early wake up worth his while. Their morning lovemaking sessions are unlike their trysts at any other time of day. They are slow, languid, and passionate. It feels _decadent_. The sun rises along with their intensity, and he can’t get enough of her in the golden rays dancing across her face. The way she moves beneath him when she’s still half-asleep, stretching and slowly coming alive, gives him chills when he thinks about it throughout the day. For once in his life he looks forward to the harsh light of day.

Of _his _desires and tendencies, Ellie is so far the wildest about his surprising love of naughty text messages. Before, when they were just partners at work, it was all one word answers from him. Now he’s taken to texting her throughout the day, often at the most inappropriate times, with dispatches from his dirty mind. It makes her _crazy_, in both the best and the worst ways.

In the morning, she might get a simple: **Your tits look great in that top.**

Then sometime in the afternoon: **Take your knickers off.**

And an hour later: **Meet me ‘round the back for a thorough investigation.**

Nothing ever comes of it, but she’s useless at work for a good fifteen minutes after each one and he knows it. She’d never have taken him for the type.

Today, he calls her into his office, careful to call her _Miller_.

She closes the door behind her, leaning back against it. “You rang?” She raises an eyebrow.

He leans back in his chair behind his desk, looking her up and down. “Free tonight?”

She nearly laughs. “No, I’ve a hot date.”

He smiles smugly. “That’s right. With me.”

She doesn’t move, her eyebrow stays raised.

“Want to take you out tonight,” he announces.

She does laugh now. “What? Like in public?”

“Never taken you on a date.” He sits up. 

“A _date_,” she coos, taking a step toward his desk.

“A date.” He stands up, leaning against his desk, leering at her.

She feigns thinking about it. “Well. If you like. I s’pose I’m available.”

“Available.”

“I’m a free woman.”

He frowns. “Well, you’re not quite – “

“No one holding me down.”

“No one – “ 

“Could do with a little romancin’.”

Alec takes a few steps toward her. She holds a hand out, stopping him. “What time?”

“Pick you up around seven?”

“Eight,” she replies. “Like to put Fred down first.”

“Eight it is.” He takes another step toward her.

“Now then, DI Hardy, just to be clear, I don’t put out on the first date.” She folds her arms across her chest.

“We’ll see about that."

*

Ellie Miller has decided to blow Alec Hardy’s mind.

She pops out at lunch for a bit of shopping and finds a dress that will stop him in his tracks. She picks up a new lipstick, and grabs a new mascara recommended to her by Daisy. She has no idea where he’ll be taking her tonight, but it doesn’t matter. She’s going to knock his socks off. In more ways than one. 

Shortly after seven, she puts a very sleepy little boy to bed, and leaves Tom downstairs playing video games with Olly, who is in town for a few weeks and always game to make a few extra quid. As she gets dressed, she wishes she could call Beth to come over, but she still hasn’t figured out how to tell her friend about this new relationship of hers. Still, she spends more time on her hair and makeup then she has in about fifteen years. Her dress is a slinky purple thing with a plunging neckline, nearly backless. It’s short enough to reveal a tantalizing amount of leg but long enough so that she doesn’t spend the evening agonizing over it being too tarty. Her shoulder-length hair is swept back off her neck, pinned a bit messily into place. She looks herself over in the mirror and for once has no criticisms. She’s lost weight over the last month or so – _probably all that shagging_, she thinks cheekily – and everything seems to be perfectly in its place.

“MUM!” Tom shouts, so loud she’s afraid he’ll wake Fred. “HE’S HERE!”

She takes one last look in the mirror, grabs her purse, then scurries downstairs.

Alec is grateful for the distraction of the video game on the telly. He’d hate to have to make polite conversation with Olly, and he and Tom are still navigating their relationship. Fortunately they’re in the middle of a very intense game and all he has to do is watch.

Until he hears footsteps on the stairs. He turns to see her descending them carefully in her heels and, sure enough, has the breath knocked clean out of him. He had expected her to clean up a bit for their first date, but he hadn’t expected…._this_. He can see that she’s well aware of the effect she’s having on him because the smile on her face is simply _wicked_.

“Christ almighty,” he finally manages. 

“He’s not available at the moment, will I do instead?” She replies, descending the last step.

He himself is in a simple suit. Nicer than his usual work suit, but he is well and truly out-matched by her. He can think of nothing to say that isn’t trite and corny, so he says, “How d’you know we’re not goin’ to the fun fair?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Because you wouldn’t _dare_.”

Ellie closes the gap between them and places her hands on his chest. “Not sure what I did to deserve this,” he admits. “But I’ll take it.”

“I thought you two were workin’ late.” Suddenly Olly is up from the couch, taking in his aunt’s done up appearance. “What’s all this now?”

Ellie turns on him with surprising ferocity. “You breathe a word of this to your mother, Oliver, and I’ll have you strung up, do you hear?”

“Mum and Hardy are dating now,” Tom explains casually.

Alec takes a step toward him. “And if I see this in paper, I’ll – “

“Fine, fine, all right.” Oliver says, though he’s clearly taken aback by the whole situation. “I’ll not say a word.”

“Thank you,” Ellie says, switching to a sweeter disposition at lightning speed and kissing his cheek.

“Good on ya, Auntie El.” He nods with approval, then turns to Alec. “And well done you.”

“Ah, wipe the smirk off yer face,” Alec groans.

Ellie begins pushing Alec toward the door as she looks back at the boys. “Tom, you be good. Lights out by eleven.”

“_Eleven_? How long will you be gone?”

“We’ll stay at Alec’s tonight,” Ellie replies evenly, though she hasn’t discussed it with Alec.

Olly jumps in when he sees the look on Tom’s face. “So what I’m hearing is, _up all night_!” He wiggles his eyebrows at him mischievously. That puts a grin on Tom’s face again.

Ellie mouths a silent _thank you_ to her nephew, then turns back to Alec. “Goodnight, lovelies!” She calls behind her as she pushes him out the door. 

Once the door is closed behind them, she addresses his expression of surprise. “Daisy’s staying at Chloe’s tonight,” she says. “I’ve arranged it.”

His jaw drops. “You bloody marvel.”

“Figured we could use a little true alone time.”

Grasping her shoulders suddenly, he kisses her right there in the driveway.

“_Careful_, DI Hardy,” she says, saucily. “People will _talk_.”

He opens the car door for her, and watches her dress hitch upward as she sits down, revealing quite a lot of, but not enough, leg. He closes the door only reluctantly.

In the car, he keeps a hand on her knee as she chatters away. He appreciates that she always has something to say, and he’s amazed by how enthralled he is by every word. The restaurant is miles away from Broadchurch, up the coast. Close enough to feel like home, but far enough away that they’re unlikely to be under constant scrutiny. He’s reserved a seaside table on the patio, because he knows that’s her favorite place to be. There, he gets to sit across from her and watch the candlelight dance on her face, the occasional breeze blowing back the same strand of her hair. He orders a salad, but a hearty one, topped with chicken breast. She, with a challenging glance over to him, orders the surf and turf. She gets like this sometimes – flirtatiously challenging or challengingly flirtatious. He’s not sure why, possibly a remnant left over from the previous iteration of their relationship, but he finds it rather intoxicating. Maybe she’s daring him to stay with her. Testing his will and devotion. It only makes him want her more.

Sipping at her martini, she tells him the tale of her very first real boyfriend. How they’d drive up this coast and neck for hours on the beach. She tells him about losing her virginity at university, to a PhD student eight years her senior. She even tells him about meeting Joe, how he sent flowers to the station every day for a month until she agreed to go out with him.

Alec doesn’t talk nearly as much. He wants tonight to be for her and about her, and besides he’s much better at baring his soul to her in the dark.

He reaches for her hand across the table when she talks about her late mother, whose passing occurred during the years he was gone. He hates that she had to go through that without him, though he doesn’t know how he could have made it any better for her.

She orders a second martini with no objection from him. He’s nursing his glass of red wine slowly, knowing he’ll have to drive. He wants her to enjoy herself without worrying about that sort of thing. She queries him a bit about his life before, with Tess, and he answers her questions evenly but without much detail. He’s not interested in that right now. Much as he knows he truly loved Tess at one time, he can’t remember ever feeling like _this _before. This feels entirely and spectacularly new. 

Halfway through the second martini, she talks about her difficult pregnancy with Fred, the one they hadn’t planned. She talks about the miscarriage she had when Tom was three, and how they decided not to have any more children after that, certain they could not endure that kind of pain again. He kisses her fingers when she tells him how terrified she’d been the entire time she’d been pregnant the last time. But she doesn’t cry. She’s so happy to have her sweet boy. In the natural course of conversation, he almost asks her if she ever thinks about having another child, but realizing the implications of that question, stops himself just in time.

She orders dessert, as a matter of principle, and insists he share it with her. He cannot refuse her.

After dinner, they walk down to the beach. She loves the beach at night more than most things. And he loves watching her hair blow in the wind especially when it’s supposed to be pinned back. She has no control over her hair no matter how hard she tries. She takes off her heels to walk in the sand, and he carries them for her. About a hundred yards down the beach, there’s a large event tent set up, a wedding reception probably. Alec’s not the biggest fan of popular music – he’s more of a classic or jazz bloke – but he hears Van Morrison and it’s “Into the Mystic” and suddenly it feels like _them_. He drops her shoes into the sand and pulls her into his arms.

“Alec Hardy, are you trying to dance with me?” The shock and delight on her face imprints on his heart.

“I _am _dancin’ with ya,” he replies, and they are.

They can’t pull their gaze from each other as they sway back and forth, arms wrapped tightly around each other. It’s a strangely perfect impromptu moment for a relationship that’s been so fraught with imperfect, chaotic ones. Halfway through the song he manages to break their gaze to burrow his face in the side of her neck, pulling her even closer.

Alec didn’t think he’d ever have something like this, and sometimes feels like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For two people who had stopped believing they were deserving of love, this feels like an extraordinary triumph of will and good fortune.

On the drive back, his hand rests on her knee again, this time his fingers playing with the hem of her dress. She is contentedly quiet now, staring out the window, keeping it cracked open enough to feel the wind on her face. They drive back into Broadchurch, and to her surprise he pulls up next to the pub. She looks at him, shocked and puzzled.

“We’ve never been to the pub,” he says wryly.

The truth is, they _have _now, but never on their own. Neither of them is sure this is a good idea, but both are lit up enough from the evening so far to see what happens.

She leads the way inside, well aware that she’s far overdressed for her dingy little lifelong haunt, and he follows dutifully. They decide to sit at the bar. That it will be less conspicuous actually if they are out in the open and not hiding in a corner. Ellie has known Sam the bartender since they were in school, of course, and she orders a martini for herself and a pint for Alec.

“Quite the get-up, El,” Sam says, giving her the once over in a way that is appreciative, but not leering. “Where do you wear something like that to in a town like this?”

Ellie is quick on her feet. “Cousin’s wedding in Exmouth. Big do,” she explains, then nudging Alec with her elbow. “Brought this one as a designated driver.”

“Good man,” Sam says to Alec. “Taking care of your partner.”

Alec shrugs. “Figured she deserved a decent night out.”

“Quite right.” He looks back at Ellie. “Boys all right?”

“Oh, yeah, great,” she replies with a winning smile.

Sam smiles back at her, then heads to the other end of the bar. Ellie sips her martini and glances at an amused Alec over the rim of her glass.

“What, then?” She asks.

He shakes his head. “Remember when you were afraid to come back here? When you thought you weren’t welcome?”

She frowns. She doesn’t like to think about that.

“People in this town adore you, Ellie,” he says. “They actually _care _about you.”

Ellie shrugs. “You grow up like family. Know too much about each other. Breeds a sense of…loyalty, of protectiveness. Blessing and a curse.”

She takes another sip, looking around the bar, some faces she recognizes, some she doesn’t.

“Sam tried to woo me away from Joe back when we were dating,” she notes. “Bit funny when you think about it.” She sips again and tilts her head. “Well, maybe it isn’t.”

A few blokes pass by them on their way out the door. “All right, El?”

She nods in their direction and gives them a smile as they exit.

“Went on a date with that one while you were gone,” she admits.

Alec’s face goes neutral and he takes a long sip of his pint.

“Back to his after.” She doesn’t look at him. Alec believes in honesty but he doesn’t always like it. “Not a bad shag. But not a good one either.”

“I wondered,” he admits, cagily. “If you were seein’ people then. Who they were. How you’d look at them. If they’d ever come to know you the same way I – well. The way I liked to think I did.”

“You did. No idea how, but you knew me.”

He reaches for her hand a bit surreptitiously and pulls it into his lap, stroking the back of it with his thumb. Her phone buzzes, and she turns away from him to fish it out of her purse. She is unbelievably distracting in her nearly backless dress, and he can’t keep himself from reaching out and trailing a hand up the length of her spine. She shivers a little, and she’s smiling when she turns back to him, phone in hand. 

“Olly. Says Tom’s already passed out,” she says. “So much for up all night.”

He’s staring at her lips, unconsciously leaning forward a bit. She grins widely.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

He drops his head, embarrassed he’d been so obvious, then looks back at her again. “Christ, you’ve no idea how much.”

“Go on, then.”

“But – “ He gestures to the still fairly crowded pub.

“No bother, they’ll just think we’re pissed out of our minds.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He leans forward and presses his lips to hers, wasting no time in parting those lips and slipping his tongue into her mouth. He reaches to cup her cheek, bringing her ever closer and she grasps onto his tie. Someone in the back of the pub whistles, and they break apart slightly, smiling against each other’s lips. 

“Get out of here?” Ellie asks.

He pulls some money out of his wallet and slaps it down on the bar – it’s more than enough. She throws a glance at Sam, who is staring at her along with many others. “Clearly I’ve had a good few too many, best be getting on!” She calls back. “Cheers, mate.”

Alec’s already running out the door, and she follows him in haste.

This time in the car his hand slips underneath her dress and travels up her thigh. She has her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp. He’d crash the car if he wasn’t so bloody determined to get them home, and _fast_.

It’s unbelievably freeing to come back a childfree home, a place all to themselves. No fear of impropriety or worry about noise level. They decide to be adults about it. To not make a mad dash for the bedroom leaving a trail of clothing in their wake. They head into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Mostly, Ellie reasons, because she’s had three martinis and the last thing she wants to do is doze off.

She slips into the loo primarily to touch up her hair and makeup, and when she comes back he’s sitting at the kitchen table waiting on the kettle. _God, he’s a handsome thing_, she thinks, biting her lip as she walks over to him. He immediately pulls her into his lap and she lets out a yelp.

“I do love you so,” he says, quiet but confident, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

She’s already kissing him by the time he finishes his sentence, unable to be an adult about it any longer. Her tongue is exploring his mouth with a ferocity she doesn’t get to unleash enough, and his hand travels all the way up her thigh underneath her dress to cup her arse. She’s pulling off his tie, his other hand moving to feel her breasts through the fabric of her dress.

The kettle whistles and it feels like it goes straight through them. She jumps up to turn it off, and he’s up after her, pinning her against the counter. His lips are at her neck and she tilts her head to the side to give him more access while she unbuttons his shirt from top to bottom with urgency. He’s leaving a mark on her throat, and she thinks about all the marks he’s left before and feels a sense of pride. She’s very happy for her skin to belong as much to him as it does to her.

In a little over a month, they’ve shagged more times than she could reliably count and it’s absolutely amazes her how _thrilling _each time still feels, how her heart races and her hands can’t get enough. It’s more than just needing that sweet release, it’s a wildly sensory experience for them somehow. In the past, sex for her has been fun and satisfying, but with a very specific _point_. To feel loved, to achieve orgasm. Sex with _him _is filled with an overwhelming _need_, a desire that is in fact quite lawless and massive, his lips sucking at her collarbone is somehow just as satisfying as having him inside her.

He’s kneading her breast with his left hand, grasping at the back of her thigh with his right, sucking at the pulse point on her throat. She can barely breathe, but she’s determined to get his shirt off him. She pushes it off his arms, and hates that he has to take his hands off her to shrug it off, even if it’s just for a hint of a second. Once it’s off, he surprises her by lifting her up onto the counter, and his mouth goes straight to the valley between her breasts, exposed thanks to her plunging neckline. She reaches to unfasten his belt and whips it off quickly – she’s gotten quite good at this. He lifts his head to kiss her lips as he pushes the straps of her dress off her shoulders. He pulls the rest of it down to her torso, exposing the lacy strapless bra underneath. She leans back against the cabinet behind her, breathing heavily, enjoying the way he hungrily stares at her breasts – the way he _always _does, like he’s etching a portrait of them in his mind. It’s incredible the way he makes her feel so _wanted_, his lust seems to be boundless where she’s concerned and it’s written all over his face, totally vulnerable and exposed.

His hands are grasping her waist and she can see he can hold back no longer. “Front clasp,” she reveals, helpfully, and he’s instantly unhooking her bra from the front, his fingers much more practiced than they were a month ago. He buries his face in her bare breasts as she arches her back into him, moaning softly.

“Ellie,” he whispers into her skin. He _loves _to say her name now.

He takes a nipple into his mouth and she instinctively wraps her legs as tightly around him as she can, desperate for closeness. “_Fuck_,” she curses, one hand grasping his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. With her other hand, she reaches to unbutton and unzip his trousers, then slips in to stroke him through his briefs.

“Christ, Ellie.” He nips at the milky underside of her breast, pinching her other nipple at the same time and she gasps so loudly that she thanks god Daisy’s away.

His trousers fall to the ground and he steps out of them, running his hands up and down the inside of her thighs without moving his mouth from her chest. His hands move higher now, gripping the waistband of her knickers. She lifts her arse off the counter and he pulls them off, tosses them aside.

“All right?” He asks, lifting his eyes to hers. One hand drifts up her inner thigh and the other reaches up to touch her cheek before kissing her deeply.

She nods. She knows what he’s asking. She feels one finger slip inside her as he kisses her and she whimpers into his mouth needily. Then two fingers, thrusting, now very practiced in the art of what makes her scream. He leaves her lips and kisses his way down her body. When he reaches her belly button, he looks up at her again, wanting to see her dark eyes and flushed cheeks once more before his head disappears underneath her dress.

She leans back as far as she can against the cabinet, one hand flat on the counter to steady herself and the other tangled in his hair. One foot rests on the edge of the sink, knee bent, the other hanging more lazily off the counter, his hand holding it in place. The second she feels his mouth on her, she all but bangs her head back against the cabinet and she can feel him chuckling, very pleased indeed.

His tongue is the eighth wonder of the world as far as she’s concerned. A month into their relationship, it knows _exactly _what it takes to drive her wild and never, ever lets up until she’s pushed so far over the edge she can hardly _see_. It’s all she can do to keep her thighs apart, he has to hold his hand firm against one, keeping her as open to him as possible. His ministrations amp up as her cries become more urgent, and he slips a finger back inside her at the exact right moment to make her scream his name. He keeps at it when he can feel her come, coaxing her through it, helping her enjoy every possible second she can, not a flick of his tongue is wasted. She’s about to slide off the counter altogether so he holds her upper thigh with one arm, and kisses up the inside of the other until he reaches the underside of her knee.

“Bloody hell,” is all she can say.

“Yes?” He murmurs against her thigh innocently.

“Let me take care of you now, you smug little wanker you.” Her arms languidly slip around his neck and she kisses him.

He lifts her off the counter, but her legs are like jelly and she can barely stand upright. He holds her close against him. “Tonight is all about you,” he says, kissing along her jawline. “I should have taken you on this date weeks ago.”

It may be all about her, but she can feel how hard he is, stretching the taut fabric of his briefs. She slips her hand inside and wraps her fingers around the length of him. He makes a fully unintelligible, entirely Scottish noise from the back of his throat. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” she confesses with a naughty smile. 

He kisses the hell out of her, and she moves her hand up and down around him, the other hand squeezing his arse. Suddenly they find they’re sliding downward to the floor like they’re falling through quicksand. She lies back on the linoleum and he pulls off the dress that is now just barely clinging to her hips before pulling off his briefs. Her legs are open wide waiting for him, knees bent, and he’s tempted to bury his face in there again but she’s holding her arms out to him. He crawls over her, then lowers his weight onto her body.

“I love you,” he says as he kisses her.

“I can tell,” she replies, because that means more to her than anything.

Sucking on her bottom lip, he guides himself inside her slowly. “I love you so much,” he says again.

She’d say the feeling is mutual but at the moment all she can do is groan in pleasure at the feel of him pushing deeper inside her. “Oh, god,” is all she can muster.

He begins to move now, slowly, tantalizingly, relishing each thrust. She kisses him deeply, moreso with each movement, running her fingernails up and down his back lazily. He reaches for a hand and tangles her fingers with his, resting their hands on the floor near her head. He pulls his lips from hers for just a second to look at her, the desire in her eyes, her plump, swollen lips, her flushed cheeks. “Christ,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are so fucking beautiful.” 

She grins, and feels only the singular thrill of happiness, then wraps her legs around his waist, encouraging him to go deeper, move faster now. He obliges her happily, quickening his pace. He has his hands on either side of her head now, his body hovering above hers to get a better angle, and so he can watch her move beneath him. He’s getting close now, and he’s learned to decipher her moans enough now to discern that she’s getting there as well. She tightens the legs wrapped around him forcing him in even deeper and the gasp that comes out of her sends him over the edge. He kisses her, and keeps thrusting throughout, slipping a hand between them to rub her clit until she’s right there with him.

She cries out and he collapses on top of her. “Love you,” she murmurs, barely coherent.

He slips out of her and she whimpers a little at the loss of him. They both lie flat on the floor, dripping in mingled sweat, staring at the ceiling fan. For a long time, silence as they catch their breath.

“El,” he ventures, still a bit breathless. 

“Mm.”

“My bloody back is _killin’ _me.”

“Oh god, me too,” she admits, grateful he confessed first. “I have the worst sodding pain in my neck.”

After a beat, they both start laughing.

“God, we’re old,” she laughs.

“So old.”

He stands up painstakingly, then holds a hand out to her, pulling her up. He folds her into his arms.

“Have to do a bit of spring cleaning in the morning,” she says with a giggle.

“Close your eyes,” he says, leading her backward out of the kitchen. “Don’t look at it for now.”

They run into a chair and flops over with a bang, adding to the mess. “That didn’t happen,” he insists.

He leads her out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom, thrilled at the idea, as they always are, of falling asleep together once again.

***


End file.
